The Devil's Eye
by Chemical Ghost
Summary: ...was always on him. RotS AU, dark.


**Disclaimer: **Just borrowing SW for a while. Don't sue; I have no money.

* * *

For as long as he could remember, something had been watching him. He had known it for a very long time. Even in the earliest years of his childhood, there had been times when he would wake up in the middle of the night with a prickling at the back of his neck, a chill on his skin and dread flowing through his veins. As he was growing up, he was able to recognize it every time it came – it was not always there; it would make its presence known only at certain times, sometimes vanishing as swiftly as it had come, sometimes lingering for hours.

He had once confided in his friends, and they had only looked at him with raised brows. No, they did not feel such things, it was only his imagination, they had said. Paranoid, they had called him, and for some time, he had agreed with them – it was just a feeling, born in his mind, and there it would stay, he had told himself.

There had been times when he'd called himself insane. Just a little, not enough to be considered crazy. Later, he had come to believe that it was the darkness in him, quietly speaking evil. There had been times when he would not dare close his eyes for fear of it stalking him in his sleep.

It showed up at the strangest of times, often when he was angry, sometimes hand in hand with despair, sometimes keeping fear company. It had brushed his mind when he had fought his rival, lost control and almost sealed his fate. It had been with him the day Cerasi died. It had dwelled in a corner as they had landed on Tatooine. It had shrouded the slave boy's - Anakin's - Force signature. It had lurked behind him as his Master – his father – faded in his arms and watched him weep.

He could still feel it now, the creeping darkness, poisoning him, hiding amidst the flames. Why now? Could it not let him be, just this once? Never, it whispered without words. Weary with pain, he did not answer. Even in the wake of all the madness, he knew better than to converse with it.

So he gazed into the snapping flames - they burned bright, almost as bright as the ache rising in his chest, ripping through his throat…The flames' sharp edges soon smoothed out and blurred. He blinked and they were once more jagged and cutting. If he stared long enough, he could almost see images imprinted in his mind – was that a face in the fire?

Anakin turned to him; face bathed in flickering saffron light, and asked of his fate. It was not the question that struck him so hard…It is the death in his eyes. His pupils were slightly dilated, and in those black centers he saw colours swirling, fire and ice, smoke and blood. He saw molten rivers and inky black metal. He saw his own end. But all of it left in a heartbeat; it might have never been.

He answered, finally, dutifully playing the part of the strong, invincible one, though things had never been so dismal, though he'd never been so alone, though shadows lay ahead. A small spark had gotten lost, drifted too far from its mother, who would never take it back…The wayward little point of light settled on his cheek, and even as it glowed red-hot, it was glacial.

oOo

In the years that followed, it had ceased haunt him so often, perhaps having set its sight on someone else. It had silently observed his and Anakin's duel with Count Dooku. It had swept over the arena at the Battle of Geonosis. It had paid him a visit when he had barely escaped death's clutches while on a mission. It had kept a close eye on him on Jabiim.

Of late, it has once again taken great interest in him. It had come to him aboard the _Monument_. It would often prowl the council chamber. It had skulked in the temple after all its denizens had been murdered. It had crawled in the control room as he'd watched what he'd suspected to be true.

It is still there. He can feel it, following him. He can feel it listening – even he does not make a sound, it can hear him breathing. There is nowhere he can hide.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"Yesterday."

"And do you know where he is now?" He feels like he is asking too much of her, but he must know.

"No," she says, looking down, and even without the Force, he can tell that she is lying.

"Padme, I need your help. He's in grave danger."

"From the Sith?"

Sith? He _is _a Sith. Obi-Wan barely restrains his bitter laugh.

"From himself . . . Padme, Anakin has turned to the Dark Side."

So much for subtlety – then again, there is no subtle way to say it. Truth hurts but never festers as lies do.

"You're wrong! How could you even say that?"

It never ceases to amaze him how one can be so wise yet so naïve.

"I have seen a security hologram of him…killing younglings."

She promptly denies it – Because Anakin could not have done this. Because he would never even dream of it. Because he is too human. Because he has a heart. Because she loves him.

"He was deceived by a lie. We all were. It appears that the Chancellor is behind everything, including the war. Palpatine is the Sith Lord we've been looking for. After the death of Count Dooku, Anakin became his new apprentice."

Denial again. Denial is easy – one doesn't need to be rational; doesn't need to accept anything. You can ignore whatever you cannot bear to entertain. But nothing lasts forever.

"Padme, I must find him."

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

He sees the shock and revulsion in her eyes, the flash of resentment.

"He has become a very great threat," He says, but the words are hollow, insubstantial. They come out harsher than he intended. They disgust him – for that does not justify murder. Padme opens her mouth, but there is nothing left to say.

"Anakin is the father, isn't he?"

She fails to meet his gaze.

"I'm so sorry."

And Force, he is. With that, his mind brushes hers, and she succumbs to unconsciousness. He had no choice. She would have gone to him. He can only hope that she will wake with no memory of this. The thing watches him depart.

oOo

He's come back, numb and exhausted, from acting upon the most horrible decision of his life, to a different world. Coruscant, at nightfall, is still ablaze, riddled with smoking ruins and reeking of death. The war is over, but there is no peace. It's over, everyone sighs, relieved, but at what price? Do they not realize that they have stepped into the draigon's nest?

They will suffer for it, eventually – only then will they begin to see the consequences of their actions. Only then will they pay for their oversight, as others already have - Dark thoughts are these, hisses a little voice within him – but what good is any of this when the damage is done?

Damage. He winces at the word. Damaged. Broken. Torn. Shattered. It's the state of his soul – far beyond repair. It's what has been done to his world – what has he left now? It's what everyone's body looked like as they fell, as they breathed their last, wondering – who could have betrayed them? Who could have a heart so black, as to murder them all? Who indeed could slaughter the innocent?

He wishes he could wonder or even deny. He knows who is at fault. Anakin is gone, gone with everyone else. He died twice. He had wasted away before his eyes until the Sith dealt the killing blow. Then he had gone and eradicated the ghost. Why is_ he_ still alive? What makes him so different? Was it because he did not fight hard enough that he did not die trying?

Everything has left him alone with his forlorn, desolate mind. But no, not quite alone. Never alone. The thing that never ceases to spy on him has not deserted him. Will it watch him until he is gone? Will it remain, having outlived him?

Until now, he had never understood that it is the only stable thing. It is the one thing that will never be moved. It will stay even after all else is washed away. As he steps into her apartment, bad news in tow, his watcher follows him. The darkness beckons – if he should listen, he will never be alone again…It calls, like the haunting cries that resound in his ears. And it waits, patiently, bidding its time…

Padme also waits, anxious and mired in confusion, and he feels a pang at that. How is he to tell her again? He crushes all rational thought and goes to meet her. She is dressed in black, no doubt asking herself if she is a widow now. She frowns at the sight of him. Can she feel the foreboding?

"Obi-Wan – Is Anakin alright? I had this terrible dream…" And concerned eyes flood with comprehension, then misery.

"It was no dream," she says.

He nods, sadly.

"I had to do it. He was too dangerous. He would have killed you, Padme."

_And he killed all my friends._ But all the revenge in the universe won't do them any good.It all sounds so empty, and thoughtless, and callous – but does it matter? He doesn't bother to apologize, because there are no words to express his regret, as there are no words to voice her anger. She who was known for her for her compassion is afire with hatred.

Her eyes are awash with tears and venom and eternal love – love, full of hate. Why is it so easy to cross the line? Why do things shift so fast?

She faints before the tears can leave her eyes; falling into his arms. He picks her up, and despite what lies within, she is light as a feather. He lays her one of the twin couches in the veranda. She does not look troubled – is that why people pass out? To shield themselves, if only for a little while, from their harsh reality? But she is not without burden.

He paces the room with a restless, violent mind, his thoughts a sea of doubts. The fury rises in him. Only now does he see the true extent of what he's done. He's crushed the shards of his shredded, fractured world – And for what? What is any of it worth now?

Tenebrous oblivion waits still, summoning the demon in him. He clenches a fist, and the glass lamps fragment, as all things do – shatter and fall, fall and shatter. Inside, he splinters and bleeds. The Sith Lord, seated on the sofa, smiles.


End file.
